


brother of the Furies (of blood, bullets, and gun smoke)

by InfinityIllusion



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Greek and Roman Mythology, The Orestia
Genre: (Jason just got adopted by the Kindly Ones it's all good), A softer gayer canon, Cassandra Cain is Black Bat, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Dick Grayson is a bit of a damsel in distress, Found Family, Gen, I have no idea what canon this is I don't think DC does either, It's for a ritual, Jason Todd is Red Hood, M/M, Self-Harm, Summoning, There is no kill like overkill, despite the Kindly Ones, it's okay Jason is there, that's what this is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-15
Updated: 2018-04-15
Packaged: 2019-04-04 17:14:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14024913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InfinityIllusion/pseuds/InfinityIllusion
Summary: Jason, like most people, has his altar to his patrons.  Said patrons just happen to be a little more than most people can handle, but then, there's no kill like overkill, and Jason has always wanted justice (and vengeance).(Aka: This was supposed to be serious and just took a left turn to crackishness.)





	brother of the Furies (of blood, bullets, and gun smoke)

**Author's Note:**

> I don't actually even know???
> 
> Pulling from The Orestia for the Furies powers. Yay 12th grade English readings I vaguely remember (I don't remember much beyond the beginning and the Furies because Orestes is kinda...a jerk.)
> 
> Anyways, idek, I needed sleep when I wrote this and while I proofread it a bit well. Eh.

* * *

It’s a little altar, and nothing special or grand.  Not the place for the grand _lares_ , back in Wayne Manor, or the little corner of the house his mom used to place a birthday candle in front of when she was thankful or lucid or just happy and had fine enough motor control that she could use a lighter.

(She never made him light it, in the end, even when she wanted guidance, but she had always felt affinity to Hera, and the gods never could help those that couldn’t start helping themselves.  Not unless there was something for them in the deal, and Hera had no advice, no help, for a woman dying of a broken heart.

If a goddess can’t help herself, she’s not about to help humans with the same illness, Jason had always thought.  But that’s not a popular opinion, for all the gods have retreated from big public works and back to the home, and Hera has always been vindictive, so Jason holds his tongue and lets the smoke from a blue birthday candle spiral past his face and out the cracked window.)

An altoids tin is what he has, all he’s needed, really, since he left his mom’s place and took to the streets.

He was buried with it, kept it even as Talia eyed it scornfully (what need has Ra’s when there’s a vat of evil green liquid as bright as cat eyes in the dark to revive him.  What need has his daughter of a god or goddess or deity?  The League of Assassins is already more than human and they manipulate to gain any further assistance.  There is no need for entreaty or supplication or prayers).  She’d allowed it as it kept him calm, she told him, and it was a small thing, to show her favor of him.

As if she hadn’t already shown the same, when she’d tossed him in the Pit and given him a new lease on life.

~IiI~

It hasn’t always been the same tin, but it’s always been either peppermint or cinnamon, because the Furies never stuck Jason to be people who really felt green.

(The flavors fit Frost’s poem, anyways, and that’s something that Jason can get behind, and he’s pretty sure Alecto is equally amused by it.  She always gives a little extra “oomph” to his guns when he’s using a cinnamon altoids tin, or even just snacking on one of them.  Tisiphone is the Fury he is most closely aligned to in the day-to-day grind of vigilantism turned crime boss turned vigilante, but she’s a little more distant with her favor, unless things have been particularly bloody; she was never really happy when he Robin for the same reason.)

“What’s the plan for tonight, Little Wing?”

“Busting some gun-running asses and roasting a chicken.”

Nightwing spits blood on the floor of the warehouse and then tenses his muscles as the Red Hood slowly approaches him, chained up as he is.

“Chickens?  You get rotisserie for dinner, Little Wing?”

“Nah, there’s a big bird sitting right in front of me.”

Dick squawks like the gigantic cock he is, and that’s enough of a signal for the goons attempting to make a kill box to start shooting.

Unfortunately for the goons, there aren’t that many of them, and their aim isn’t that good.  If this were a proper kill box, their aiming abilities wouldn’t matter so much, but Jason’s intel is good, and even if it isn’t he’s got eyes.  There are way too many crates right next to Nightwing to use as cover, which is what he promptly does, after he shoots Nightwing free.  Well, free-ish.  Circus boy can get himself out of the cuffs, eventually, especially now that he’s not hanging from his arms, from a couple different areas.

This entire set up is so cliché, Jason wants to point out a dozen different cop shows the grunts could be auditioning for, but then, they’re a little busy trying to shoot him and he doubts they’d hear him over the noise.

(A little part of his brain wonders if he’d ever employed any of them – well, not directly, but the point stands.  He’d tried to make sure all of the people on the ground, the good ones, down on their luck, had chances to get out when he’d headed Gotham’s crime, but life happens to the best of them.  To say nothing of how it happens to the worst.)

Thankfully, he’s got his altar in a cinnamon tin tonight, and Alecto’s appreciation doesn't go, well, unappreciated.  Tisiphone should also be pretty happy given the amount of blood pooling in certain parts of the warehouse, but Jason isn’t going to hold his breath on her.

He’s got a rather large limiting factor with him at the moment, after all.

Nightwing, free of his cuffs and having snuck up to the second level, flips and twists through the air, taking out the remaining goons with a few good punches and the odd kick.

“So, Little Wing,” Nightwing calls, and it looks like he’s dusting his hands, which Jason really hopes he’s not, because _seriously_ the guy did like no work this time, “you said something about gun-runners?”

“Actually,” Jason growls, “I said something about busting a chicken.  Specifically, the one that got itself all trussed up like a doofus.”

“I’m not a chicken!” He still squawks like a chicken, but hey, at least he didn’t die flipping down from the second story railing.  That’d have been embarrassing, and also indicative of a concussion, other internal injury, or drugs, none of which Jason has the patience for right now.

“Please, you’re an overgrown cock that likes to strut around, don’t try and deny it.”

“Wait – what? No!  I’m not – I don’t—”

“You totally strut.”

“No I don’t!”

“You do. Very proudly, especially when the Demon Brat does something impressive or something.”

“I’M NOT A CHICKEN!  Nightwing is from a Kryptonian legend, you complete _ass_!”

“I see you’ve dropped the denial of strutting.  Glad you’ve figured out how to gracefully take defeat, there.”

“Oh my _gods_.  Can you drop it?”

“Nope!  _My_ night was planned.  _My_ night had important things to do, that I had to rush through.  Also, explain to me how Nightwing isn’t helping you out with some of your shit like ever – is he still around?  Like I’m pretty sure unless the gods fought too, he should still be around and since you’re _borrowing his name_ you should get something in return for having a bunch of Earthlings know it, and also explain to me how running into _Slade_ of all people means you get _tied up_ and in the company of shitty goons instead of, I don’t know, duking it out like the weirdos you are, because that guy is clearly fixated on you, and I feel like I should call you out on that.”

Nightwing has no response to any of that, instead choosing to bury his head in his hands and groan.

“I think I liked you better when you were just trying to kill me sometimes.  Now you’re trying to kill me through embarrassment.”

“Yeah, well, you still haven’t answered any of my questions, and I’m currently more concerned about the mercenary who’s obsessed with you, that might still be hanging around.”

“Fuck off.”

“Would do that, worried about the merc.  I don’t want to get another trip to the underworld thanks.  Been there, didn’t want the T-shirt.”

“Slade is gone, he had some weird deal with the goons’ boss, who is now in a different state, I don’t even know _why_ , and if we start looking at the identities of the goons we might be able to figure something out.”

“Well,” Jason drawls, “thank you for _finally_ answering the important question.  Now I’m going to go clean my guns and then go to my stake out.”

Nightwing sighs.  “Okay, thanks for the assist, Little Wing.”

“Yeah, whatever you absolute cock.”

Nightwing groans.

Jason smirks beneath his helmet.  It’s nice to come up with new ways to insult the Golden Child, especially when it’s not just a string of profanity.  Hey, he can even say that around Batman and not be told off for language!

Not that that’s stopped him, nor is he going to go out of his way to see or be in the hearing range of Batman, but you know.  If he was, he could.

(The fact that it’s a really bad pun, if you look at it a little sideways or think about it for a minute, he’s just going to blame on Dick.  Because otherwise he’ll have to own up to possibly spending an increasing amount of time with the first Robin and, yeah, no, the Nile is lovely this time of year and he’s good with that kind of vacation.)

“Excellent roasted chicken, Red Hood,” Oracle chimes in through his ear piece.  “How long is it going to take him to notice the pun?”

“I’m not sure why he didn’t notice it in the first place,” Red Hood admits.  It worked for the “roasting” bit of his plan, though.  “It can’t be the first time he’s been called a cock.”

They both pause to think on that for a minute.

“Maybe,” Oracle says slowly.  “I don’t recall him ever getting called that in school….”

“Because this is Gotham and also rich kids and farm animals.”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“Huh.”

Jason wanders further away from the warehouse, when Oracle tries to give him a heart attack.

“You know, I’m not going to tell Nightwing you’re flirting with him, but that was painfully awkward, even for you.”

“ _Oracle!_ ”

“Yes?”

“I was not – that wasn’t!”

“Sure it wasn’t.”  Jason can practically _see_ the smirk in her voice.  “And I’m sure you won’t do anything with the information that I have had to sit through at least seven odes/complaints about your thighs from Dick.”

Jason’s face is burning and he would really like to redirect this conversation because he already complains to Megaera about this, but talking to one of his patrons is one thing, and having the conversation with another person is just.  Nope, he was not ready for this.

(There might or might not have been a drunken call to Roy about this, but hey, if he can claim he doesn’t remember most it, it doesn’t count, right?  Also, it’s not like Roy was super helpful in that regard, anyways.  He just kept telling him to actually ask Dick out and yeah, no.  Not now, maybe not ever.  Sex is one thing, dating is another, and Megaera is apparently in favor of the former before the latter.

Which, he understands that using a pendulum to communicate with a Fury regarding his love life is not exactly what most people would do, but he’s pretty sure that he’s never going to send something to Aphrodite, after his mom’s stories and how her one attempt led her to his dad.)

“Um.”

“Uhuh.  Well, go get him, if you want him.  And if you hurt each other too badly, well…”

Jason snorts.  It wouldn’t be the first time, and the last time won’t be the last, not with their track record.

Of course, this is the exact moment that Nightwing’s distress signal is triggered.

“ _What the hell, it hasn’t even been 10 minutes!_ ” Jason hisses into the mic.

“I don’t know, but the cameras have all whited out, and I can’t pick anything up from the mic except Nightwing’s breathing.”

“I fucking _knew_ Slade wouldn’t let him off this easy.”

“It’s Slade.”

“Yeah, I _know_.”

Which means that, given the weapons and ammunition he has on him, Jason’s going to have to do something kinda risky, relatively painful, and probably illegal somewhere.  Like, in a godly realm illegal.

“Alright, I’ve got this.  Get Black Bat on standby, though.  Because I’m only 70% sure this is gonna work.”

“Done.  Batman is making inquiries, I’ve stalled him, but he’s going to come in the next hour or so.”  The ‘if you want to avoid him’ is unsaid, but the information is still very much appreciated.

“Right, okay.  Don’t let Alfred or Leslie kill me for this, okay?”

“Jason?”

He pulls out a knife and sketches an awkward snake on the nearest flat surface, which happens to be an abandoned top of a packing crate.  Then he pulls out a hip flask, filling the groves with the alcohol, even as it spills through the cracks in the wooden slats, and a lighter, which he first uses on the knife, before horizontally slitting his wrist and allowing the blood to pour over the alcohol and carving.  After a few second, after which the entire section of the board is soaked in blood and alcohol sets the entire thing a light.

“Daughters of Nyx I call upon thee, Alecto the Unceasingly Raging, Tisiphone of Vengeful Destruction, I call you to the mortal plain with blood of your kin.  Assist me in my vengeance, assist me in justice, I ask as one of your own.”

“Pretty words, honey, you didn’t need to, you know,” Alecto whispers on his right.

“It’s been an age since we could stretch, you know.  I’m sure the words were just as necessary, sister,” Tisiphone replies from his left.

“But blood calls to blood,” Alecto retorts.

“And blood begets blood,” Tisiphone agrees.

“A trial has been called. Let justice be served!” they finish in unison.

With that, they descend upon the warehouse, and leave Jason to slowly lower himself to the ground and wonder if he just went for overkill for overkill (because Slade is overkill, really, he is).

And the worst bit is he can’t even stop the bleeding because he’s pretty sure that’ll cut the connection (even if he gets a bandage out, regardless), which basically means that he’s a little fucked and not in the fun way if this goes on of a bit, and very fucked if this goes on for too long.

He’s pretty sure Alecto likes him too much for that, though, and Tisiphone would be harassed by Megaera if she killed him through this.

(It’s not as if Slade hasn’t caused Dick pain and suffering – and while the start of the bizarre obsession started before Jason was Robin, there’s enough that he knows of that he’s sure that calling the Furies to judge is something that is totally acceptable to them.  They are their own brand of judgement, and he carries it out across Gotham as the Red Hood, when he couldn’t as Robin, was in their care as a child on the streets, and learned what he could from books and attempts to contact them, as he had on the days his mother wasn’t lucid enough for him to want to stick around the small apartment.)

He can hear the shrieks of accusation and he really hopes that there aren’t too many goons, because the downside of the Furies is that they air _all_ your dirty laundry between two (or however many) people and those kinds of things you don’t want the average mook to know for blackmail reasons.

“Aww, have a little faith if your sisters, dear,” Alecto coos.

Jason blinks.  “That was fast.”

“Of course!  We’ve many years of pent up stress, after all.”

“No one wants to be under our scrutiny, and so no one calls,” Alecto agrees.

 Tisiphone turns to Jason.  “Don’t let the boy to get away, now.  Megaera would be insufferable and then have to berate you.”

Jason shivers.  He’d been berated by pendulum a time or two and really, that sounds ridiculous, until you’ve been _beaten up by a pendulum_.  He’s a vigilante, was a major – _the_ major – crime boss, at the time, and there’s nothing more demeaning than being scolded while your ass is handed to you by a pendant on a chain.

(Even if he’s glad he didn’t get worse.)

“Thanks, Alecto.  Thanks, Tisiphone.  I’ll have a proper offering in a few days.”

Tisiphone shrugs.  “This was offering enough, for me.  I enjoyed my little rampage, and it wasn’t as if I had better things to do at the moment.”

Alecto nods.

“Alright.”  It’s not like Jason is really going to argue with the justice goddesses.  “Well, thank you for your assistance in serving justice, daughters of Nyx.  I release you from the mortal plain, Alecto the Unceasingly Raging, Tisiphone of Vengeful Destruction, please go with my thanks and the knowledge of how justice and vengeance were carried out.”

Not his most eloquent wording, but sometimes straight to the point is more important.  They disappear back into shadow, and Jason finally gets to make use of the bandage in his wrist as the fire puts itself out with the lack of infernal energy sustaining it beyond what the wood could give.

Apparently this is the signal for Black Bat to drop in, take one look at him, shake her head, and help him bandage his wrist.

‘Stay put,’ she signs, and goes into the warehouse, presumably to grab Dick.

Which, it’s not really like he was planning on going too many places right now, what with the blood loss, and not having a safe house all that close to this particular warehouse.

This also means he gets Dick dumped on him, since the dumbass apparently got hit with some kind of slow acting drug when he was knocked out, despite not saying anything and how this should’ve shown up on his suit…somehow.  Apparently.

“Yeah, well, Replacement or Batman really needs to work on that bit then.”

Black Bat is not impressed.

“I’m not either, but blood loss.  Also heavy person lying on me.”

‘So you’ll stay here.’

Thanks, Cass, for holding him hostage.

“Okay, why?”

‘Medical care.’

“Good point, but I can recover at a safe house.  The blood loss isn’t _that_ bad.”

‘Looks bad.’

Which, yeah, okay, it does look really bad without context.  Not as bad as it could’ve, but, yeah.

“That just means I should go to a safe house and avoid the drama.”

Black Bat just stares at him.

And stares.

And stares.

“Fine!”

‘Good.’

Cass is smirking at him, he knows it.  Why are all the women smirking at him?

(If he wakes up shoved in a bed right next to Dick’s he’s not sure if he’s going to be happy, continue his exploration of the Nile, or just flip something and get the fuck out of there.  Because he really did not ask the women to interfere with his love life.  Really didn’t.

(Megaera laughs, because he didn’t, but she has a fair bit of pull with the other gods and goddesses.  They like to keep the Furies happy.  This keeps them happy.))

* * *

Kudos, comment, concrit welcome.  I'm not sure how I did on the voices for this one....

Also I swear I'll update my other DC fics eventually!  But uh.  Hopefully this entertains until then.

~Fins


End file.
